


The Black Mark

by VanillaGhost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Fluff, Halloween Gift Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parseltongue, Slytherin Harry Potter, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-06 07:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaGhost/pseuds/VanillaGhost
Summary: Having a soul mark is more of a curse than a gift and during the disastrous extraction operation at number four, Privet Drive, this has never been made more apparent. It is this very same ancient and powerful magic which plunges Harry into another era where he must fulfil the purpose of the increasingly irascible soul mark on his left shoulder, or else be consumed by it.





	1. The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slippin_into_darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slippin_into_darkness/gifts).



> A largely narrative fic because I am Bad at writing short things.

_‘Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together,  
_ _it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.’  
_ _  
—_ Plato, _The Symposium_

 _  
  
  
July, 1997.  
  
_ He was going to crash and there was nothing he could do about it. Behind him came another scream, _“Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!”_  
  
He felt Voldemort before he saw him. Looking sideways, he stared into the red eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Voldemort preparing to curse him once more —   
  
And then Voldemort vanished, along with everything else.

* * *

 _October, 1943._    
  
Rain thrashed against the castle as a cold wind ripped through the turrets and crept through crevices, leeching its way into whatever warm space it could find. The air vibrated with unease and yet it did not affect Tom as he stalked through the castle. Within him, a separate storm raged.  
  
He was performing his late night prefect duties while ruminating on a subject that had haunted him for the better part of his young life; the coal black mark marring the left side of chest. A dark, knotted mass like an ink stain with two wisps spreading like veins from the centre of it. In Tom’s eyes it was an imperfection the size of his palm that was _meant_ to thrum with warmth and life. With some sign — _any sign_ — that another soul existed on the other side of it. One to whom was meant to have Tom’s match.  
  
But Tom Riddle’s mark was silent, and had been since the day he was born. A fact which led to the second most important subject that had plagued his mind recently: _horcruxes_.  
  
He had come across the word while reading and planned to ask Professor Slughorn about it in their next Slug Club meeting. And once Tom had gathered enough information, then he could begin his research in earnest. For if his soul mate truly did not exist, then he must find an alternate method to prolong his life despite the fatal nature of the cancerous mark above his heart.  
  
This last thought ended up being the one which swirled within his mind like the mid-autumn gusts that continued to batter the walls and windows of the castle. It was one of these very windows that Tom soon found himself standing before as his dark gazed swept over the tumultuous landscape out in the pitch black and stormy night.  
  
He’d stood there for no more than a few moments when a flash of lightning lit up the grounds in a day-like brightness. During those brief three seconds, he spotted a figure stumbling through the darkness below, unsteadily but doggedly making their way up to the castle. Breath stilling in his chest, Tom leaned forward to peer more closely out the window. But try as he might, he could no longer see much of anything, least of all determine if the shadow emerging from the Forbidden Forest were human or creature.  
  
Just when Tom thought that what he saw was nothing more than a shadow, another crack of lightning flashed through the sky. In that instant, Tom’s doubts were all at once confirmed.  
  
The shape was unmistakably human, and undoubtedly that of a young man.  
  
Face hardening, Tom made his way down to the castle’s main entrance, fully prepared to dock points to whichever student thought they could get away with a nightly jaunt on his watch.  
  
But just when Tom arrived at the entrance, the doors burst open to let in a torrent of frigid wind and rain. At the heart of it, illuminated by the candles in the hall, a lone figure half-stood, half-slouched in the threshold.

Tom could now see that this was most certainly a fellow Hogwarts student.  
  
The boy’s too-pale skin and peculiar clothes were drenched as was his coal-black hair. A pair of round glasses sat askew on his face with one lens cracked. But what was most alarming of the student's appearance was the blood trickling down his chin from a cut on his forehead. Overall, he looked as if he were barely holding himself upright.  
  
Tom schooled his surprise and pressed his mouth into a firm line before he demanded the student’s name and house. But when no answer was forthcoming, he then commanded a reason for the foolish notion that they could leave the castle so late at night without consequences.  
  
At this, the student’s lips finally parted as if to speak. But instead of an answer, all that escaped was a pained gasp before the boy took two steps, wobbled dangerously on his feet, before collapsing.  
  
Instinctively, Tom’s arms threw themselves wide to capture the body which crashed into his, soaking his own school robes where their bodies met. But in the next instant, the state of his uniform was the last thing on his mind.  
  
As Tom held the other boy close, his eye widened once more. Though this time it was not the stranger’s presence that caused them to do so, but the gentle thrum of magic that started to tingle across his skin like sparks of fire exploding from his chest, just below his left collarbone.  
  
_Could it be?_

* * *

There was a sizeable commotion when Tom brought the boy — then unconscious and considerably heavy — into the hospital wing later that night. There was no doubt that moving him would have been much easier had he used his wand and a levitation charm. But the fact of the matter was that a part of him could not, and did not want to. It was the thought that if he let go of the boy, he would somehow slip away again like smoke through Tom’s fingers, never to be seen again. It was a completely irrational sentiment, but one that would not leave Tom alone no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.  
  
Once they had arrived in the hospital wing, neither Tom nor the stranger were permitted to leave again. At least not until Tom had suffered through recitation after recitation of his story. Who was the boy? _I don’t know._ Where did he come from? _From the forest_. Where did you find him? _I came across him on my nightly patrol of the castle_.  
  
Headmaster Dippet was called from his bed as well as deputy Headmaster Professor Dumbledore. Among them and Madam Hickey, a chorus of furious whispers and speculation arose about who the boy could be and where he might have come from.   
  
During the discussion, Tom could not help but notice the decidedly suspicious looks aimed at him from the Transfiguration professor in particular. Normally this would stir in him a familiar surge of resentment but Tom was far too distracted with the newcomer to care.  
  
Tom stared at the prone form of the boy as he lay on one of the hospital beds and could hardly tear his eyes away. He was stunned by the _thing_ inside him which had begun to shudder and speak, as if it had been there all along and had only now woken from a deep slumber. It was an entirely peculiar sensation, and one that Tom did not know if he cared for at all. Two instincts warred within him; one of self-preservation, and the other a yearning for his other half.  
  
Once the gathered adults had decided on the best course of action, they each agreed to return to their beds and face the problem again tomorrow. This was the last time Tom saw the boy for the next day and a half as he was nursed back to health in the hospital wing.

All the while the buzz under Tom’s skin continued to grow until it became an uncomfortable itch and all he could think of was the boy. The green eyes. The blood, stark against his pale face. But these were the only things Tom could remember about him until dinner the next evening, when the boy in question was called up to the front of the Great Hall among a swell of whispers from the gathered students.  
  
His name was _Harry Potter_ , according to Dippet’s announcement.  
  
Everyone watched as the newcomer took his seat on the stool before the high table. A collective breath was held when the sorting hat was placed on his messy head of black hair, and all at once the Hall fell deathly silent to hear the hat’s judgement.  
  
“ _Slytherin!_ ” came the bellow, before a cacophony of voices rose up once again. Potter’s green eyes widened in shock before they cast a furtive, frantic look toward —  
  
Dumbledore?  
  
In return, a curious look was Potter’s only response from the old fool before the boy eventually stumbled to his feet and made his way stiffly toward the Slytherin table were he was greeted with both cheers and calculating eyes. Tom, of course, found himself among one of the latter. He carefully watched as Potter took his seat at the table where he suddenly looked up and found Tom’s gaze before holding it.  
  
Tom was struck as another of those strange sensations coursed through him. He hated it. Hated the feeling like he was being read like an open book. Of being cracked open and his parts examined — all his thoughts and feelings and plans and aspirations looked over, only for it to be found wanting.  
  
It was all an entirely unsettling turn of events that needed an answer. Immediately.


	2. The Question

For once, Tom’s extracurricular studies into the subject of immortality and horcruxes took a backseat to this new and perplexing phenomena: Harry Potter. The miraculous answer he had been waiting for all this time, or a threat to all his carefully laid plans. Either way, only one thing was certain. He was Tom’s _soulmate_.   
  
Ever since the boy had arrived in the dead of night and practically fallen into his arms, Tom’s soul mark had not stopped making noise. Whenever Tom dared to brush a hand over the inky pattern that hummed against the skin of his breastbone, the emotions and presence of _someone else_ jolted him, making him tear his hand away. It felt like another being lived inside — or rather, _alongside_ — him now. It was strange and horrible at first, but after a while Tom could not imagine ever living without it.  
  
But it was what this meant that truly changed everything. It meant half the panic and fear that secretly and relentlessly drove him to seek out other means of prolonging his life had vanished with the arrival of a soulmate. It made Tom think that perhaps he had been hasty in his distrust of the ancient and powerful magic that everyone proclaimed a soul mark possessed.   
  
Yet now another problem had arisen. The way the other boy looked at Tom made him feel as if he were a monster. What had he done or said that made Potter so distrustful and wary around him when they had hardly met? Did the fact that they were soulmates frighten him? If that were the case, Tom would just have to convince him of how foolish that was. In fact, the other boy should be lucky to be fatefully bound with the future leader of a new wizarding world.   
  
But if Potter needed convincing, then so be it. Tom was nothing if not good at getting people on his side. But to do this, he needed to be around the other boy. Needed to make him his ally, his _friend_. Perhaps honour him with a place among the faithful ranks of the Knights of Walpurgis.   
  
The first would not be a difficult task, as the other boy seemed to be _everywhere_ he turned. (Whether this was an effect of the mark or not was unclear, but irrelevant at the moment.) It was the latter; the getting to be friendly with the other boy, that proved to be the most challenging. Tom had read that the ‘consummation’ of a bond only occurred when the marked pair wholly trusted one another. This was no small feat, by any means, but surely not impossible.  
  
Harry Potter could be made to trust Tom Riddle. 

* * * 

Tom took it upon himself as head boy of Slytherin and Hogwarts prefect to mentor Potter. But it had never been so quickly and abundantly clear how much the other disliked him. Enough for Tom to hardly even get physically close to the other.  
  
Potter recoiled at the slightest brush of skin and though their soul marks sang with pleasure at these connections, Potter’s mind seemed to abhor them.   
  
Another realisation that promptly made itself known was that Potter did not get along with the other Slytherins. There was one such instance, in fact, where tensions had risen to the point where it came close to physical blows.   
  
Using a brisk pace, Tom had made his was to the dungeons after a sudden burst of searing, foreign fury erupted from his mark. As soon as he stepped through the door, he came across a loosely gathered circle in the middle of the room. Upon further investigation, Potter was at the centre of it, facing off with the biggest and meanest.   
  
Both Potter and Clovis Mann, a brute of a student that even Tom found too dim-witted and proud to bother with most days, were facing off. Each of them had their wands drawn and ready to aim a slew of the most fowl hexes.   
  
But just as Mann opened his large mouth to bellow an undoubtedly low-level but nasty jinx, Tom cut in.   
  
With a simple curse, Tom threw the bully clear across the room; effectively snuffing out the fight before it began. The gathered crowd turned their gaping mouths and wide stares on Tom as he calmly pocketed his wand. Expecting to be berated by the prefect, they were shocked when instead Tom announced that whoever was the first to lay hand on his soulmate would be the first to lose it.  
  
With this new and exciting gossip to gnaw over, Tom grabbed a stony-looking Potter by the arm and led him from the common room without much notice.  
  
Potter, astonishingly, was not grateful for the intervention, and said as much once they were finally alone.   
  
“You only did that because I’m your…” he bit off the last word as if it tasted foul on his tongue.  
  
Tom narrowed his eyes and replied, “Of course I did. What I can’t understand is why you’re fighting this so strongly!”   
  
Harry’s lips thinned and he did not answer.   
  
“Is it because you’re afraid?” Tom pushed. “ _Harry_ …” The whisper of his name seemed to jolt something within the other boy as his eyes went round and his face drained of colour.   
  
“ _Just leave me alone!_ ” he spit as he raced off before Tom could even convince him to stay, by either word or touch.   
  
Tom stared after the other boy, shocked and bewildered. Not only because the other had spoken _Parseltongue_ , but because he could not understand the vitriol of his denial.   
  
But then another feeling slowly started to creep in at the edges, and Tom was horrified to identify it as hurt. _Rejection._ It quickly turned to rage, however, as he silently swore that he would have Potter. One way or another, the other boy would bow to him.   
  
Although he hated the idea of it — of resorting to the very thing his mother had resorted to, and what eventually became her demise — Tom decided to get his hands on a few bottles of Amortentia. And whether or not this plan should fail, he also vowed to continue his pursuit of immortality.   
  
After all, how strong could love alone truly be to conquer death?


	3. The Plan

The trees continued to change throughout the shortening days, reflecting the setting sun in hues of orange, yellow, and red. It reminded Tom of death and of the great sense of purpose he had set out for himself.   
  
He would create his first horcrux within the week. He made this decision with his hand in the folds of his school robes, curled around a pink vial of liquid desire. Yes, everything would come together perfectly. As it had always meant to, as it always should. Potter had distracted him from his goals long enough. In the past weeks, Tom had hardly visited the chamber once to set Slytherin's basilisk on the unsuspecting mudblood population. A particular task, Tom also decided, that would have to wait just a little longer.  
  
He rose early the next day, at a time he knew his reluctant other half would not awaken for another thirty minutes yet, to slip a drop into the cup where Potter usually sat in the Great Hall. The plan was simple and should have been a sure thing.

Except somehow, horrendously, it managed to backfire before Potter had even taken his seat.   
  
The minute the messy-haired boy arrived in the Hall, appearing more rumpled than ever with shadows under his eyes, he had been victim to a throwaway comment from a pair further down the table. As soon as he heard it, Potter stopped short of his seat to shoot back his own remark.   
  
This should have been the end of it, except that the barbs only escalated until one of the two met Potter with a shove. Potter stumbled back a few steps until his back hit the table which shuddered, knocking over bowls and cups. As well as the contents of the pumpkin juice at Potter’s seat.   
  
Tom glared at the spilled contents, then at the fight. Baring his teeth like a wolf prepared to attack, he stalked toward the commotion where only two students froze upon seeing him.

Potter, it appeared, was not as intimidated and went on to snarl a rather unsavoury insult at the pair. But before either of the two Slytherin’s could find the courage to retaliate, Tom yanked Potter by the front of his shirt and forced him to stumble after Tom as he stormed from the Great Hall. 

Once in a quiet corner, Potter struggled in the grip and ripped away, shouting, “What’s your problem, Riddle!”   
  
“My _problem_ , Potter, is _you_ ,” Tom snarled back. “And why you consistently get into fights and purposefully ignore fate when it tells you what’s right under your nose!”   
  
Potter glared. “I don’t see why my getting into fights is any of your business. And if it’s all just about the stupid _soul mark_ anyway, then you can go to hell. I’d rather let it kill me than ever be with you!”   
  
Tom gaped as Harry stormed off. He wanted to yank him back and physically knock some sense into him. But that would be losing his cool. Would be showing the world who he truly was. What he’d been trying so hard to disguise all these years. He couldn’t have that. _No one_ had that kind of power over him, least of all _Harry Potter_.   
  
Instead Tom took a deep breath through his nose and glared after the boy, watching as his lithe silhouette strutted down the hallway to disappear round another corner. 

Oh, Tom would have him in the end. He would just have to try again later. There was no possible way the plan could backfire again, he reassured himself. 

* * *

Malfoy, _the idiot_ , had drunk from the wrong cup. The entitled, snobbish, snivelling prat had taken Potter’s juice at dinner by accident and now Tom had to deal with the infatuated fool. What’s more, the debacle only seemed to amuse Potter to no end. It was almost as if the more Tom’s irritation escalated, the more Potter derived enjoyment out of it.   
  
Meanwhile the vicious thought kept repeating in Tom’s head; that it was meant for _Potter_ , the fool. _He_ was meant to be debasing and humiliating himself in front of Tom, _not Malfoy_. But none of this was said aloud, though the urge to do so was strong. Instead, to take his mind off it, Tom returned to the business that had occupied his mind all summer.   
  
That night, he slipped away after everyone had gone to sleep and managed to make it to the girls’ bathroom where he spotted something in the mirrors —   
  
A shadow flitted behind him into one of the stalls and Tom had his wand in hand in an instant. He aimed at the corner where the intruder had just ducked behind and cried out, “I know you’re there! You’d best come out now or I’ll curse you!”  
  
Slowly, the figure emerged and Tom’s eyebrows rose to his hairline when he recognised the unmistakable messy black hair of Harry Potter peak out from the stall followed by the scar and bright green gaze through round glasses. 

Tom narrowed his eyes accusatorially. “Potter?”   
  
The other boy avoided his gaze in a strange show of sheepishness though he tried to hide it with his own suspicion. “What are you doing out of bed so late?” Potter asked.  
  
Tom’s frown deepened. “I could ask you the same question…” he said lowly.   
  
Potter did not reply and neither did Tom. In fact, it seemed that would be the end of it until Potter piped up, “I thought I heard something… Back in one of the halls. Might be another student out of bed.”   
  
Tom pursed his lips, doubting if that was at all true. But if he didn’t at least act like it was a priority, then his biggest secret would be blown. Resigning himself to the situation, Tom played along and went to investigate.   
  
Unsurprisingly, the student had apparently ‘vanished’ or at least went to bed, knowing what the consequences would be if they were found out of it. Something which Tom did not hesitate to remind Harry of as he escorted them back to the Slytherin boys’ dorms.   
  
Harry did not seem to mind the warning though, nor being marched back to their common room. In fact, he simply wished Tom a hesitant " _Goodnight_ " before drawing closed the curtains round his bed where Tom heard nothing more from him.   
  
Dazed by the sudden and peculiar shift in attitude, Tom stared at the drawn curtains for a long while before he too eventually fell asleep.


	4. The Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry gives an inch. Or a lot.

The incident had been a strange and no doubt solitary occurrence. But during the days after it, Tom found that the latter was not the case at all. In fact, Potter seemed all too eager to hang around him now.   
  
In a bewildering turn of events, the other boy began to invite Tom to study with him in the library. But if it was too late and the library closed, Potter would sometimes suggest discussing schoolwork in front of the common room fire instead. Tom found these moments to be almost intimate at times. With the rosy fire crackling merrily in its grate, it cast the strange bluish-green common room in a softer light. Potter would be folded up in one of the armchairs near it, looking almost small and fragile despite the huge and fierce spirit that Tom knew him to possess.  
  
Then there were the times Tom caught Potter staring at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. Tom would feel an intense, searching gaze aimed at him from time to time. But whenever he tried to glean some meaning from it, the mark only reflected back a flood of conflicting emotions. It was a mystifying puzzle indeed.  
  
In addition to their study sessions, Potter even went so far as to begin sitting next to Tom at meal times. And when the subject of schoolwork was eventually exhausted, conversation turned to more mundane topics. Like their interests or opinions on topics or people.  
  
Through all this time spent together, Tom discovered that Potter was a singularly enigmatic individual who seemed reluctant to share any personal information about himself. But it did not stop him from revealing things through other means. His alertness spoke of having been exposed to danger. His appetite suggested he was not used to being fed well. The curse mark on his forehead was an even greater mystery, however. And one that Tom burned to know more about. Who had put it there and why?  
  
But while Potter did not reveal much about himself, neither did he seem interested in pressing Tom for any details of his own life. A fact which puzzled Tom even further while simultaneously making him wary.  _What does Potter want?_  A small, paranoid part of his brain whispered.  
  
Meanwhile, the other part of him boasted that this new and bizarre behaviour could only be due to the fact that perhaps Potter had finally warmed up to the idea that they were soul mates. Maybe the incident with Malfoy had even pushed him into realising his own feelings for Tom?  
  
Whatever the case may be, they had each come to a startling realisation: They actually enjoyed one another’s company.

* * *

The chamber was cold and quiet as Tom stepped across the stone floor toward the monstrous head of Salazar Slytherin. Clutched in his hand was his diary while in the other, his wand.  
  
Though his mind was filled with purpose, it was also consumed with Potter.  
  
 _Harry_ , he thought. Without a doubt his soulmate, but somehow… it was not enough.  
  
The mark was unsettled. Frenzied.  _Unconsummated_. Whether by Tom’s fault or Harry’s was unknown. There was only one thing Tom knew for certain, and that was that he must stop the cursed mark from spreading and eventually killing him. Once he had succeeded, then he would have all the time to convince Harry to do the same.  
  
Tom stopped in the middle of the chamber and slowly placed his diary on the stone cold floor. Taking two steps back, he glanced at the open maw of Slytherin's founder and spoke softly. “ _Only you ssshall have the power to dessstroy thiss part of me_ ,” he hissed, and pointed his wand at the ground. “Not some defective soul mark.” These last words were bitter as he drew in breath to recite the spell that would split his soul and at last grant him some form of immortality.  
  
But just as the first words began to escape his lips, a loud and echoing shout erupted from behind him. With a gasp, Tom whipped around to find —  
  
“ _Harry_.”  
  
The other boy’s face was thunderous as he sprinted toward Tom, his eyes vivid and resembling the killing curse. When he finally reached Tom, he grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him close so that his laboured breaths fanned hot across Tom’s face. “Don’t you dare, Tom,” he said. “Don’t do what you’re about to do…”  
  
Tom stared, and by some force of will managed to make his lips move. “And what is it you think I’m doing exactly?” He was proud to admit that he even managed to sound accusing.  
  
But unlike the girls’ bathroom incident, Harry was not playing games this time. He stared defiantly back at Tom while his fists clenched more tightly in his robes.  
  
“I know that you’re trying to cheat death, but that it won’t work…”  
  
Tom’s lips parted in unconcealed shock as Harry then began to pour forth all his truth. How he could speak Parseltongue, why he had acted the way he did at first, and how he knew things about Tom he shouldn’t.  
  
Once he finished, Tom could only stand there flummoxed and unable to believe his own ears at first. But he did. For whatever reason, Tom believed what Harry was saying was the truth.  
  
Still unable to speak though, Tom reached out a hand and brushed the hair back from Harry’s forehead. “This was me…” he whispered.  
  
Harry gently took his hand and guided it to his chest. “ _This_  is you. That’s all I care about now.”  
  
Tom swallowed and his fingers seemed to have a life of their own as they travelled to the collar of Harry’s nightshirt and lightly pushed it aside. Harry did not stop him as he slowly revealed the mark —  _his_  mark — stamped across the pale skin of the left side of his chest. Except Harry’s had taken the shape of a serpent’s head, its mouth open and fangs bared as if ready to strike. Tom licked his lips and continued to stare as his thumb brushed the inky edges. It was only the small hitch in breath that finally made him tear his eyes away.  
  
Harry’s cheeks were flushed and his breathing shallow. The green of his eyes now a thin ring around his pupils which were trained on Tom. Mouth suddenly dry, Tom licked his lips again — a subconscious movement which Harry followed with his eyes.  
  
In the next moment, Tom surged forward at the same time Harry did, and they met with a crash like an ocean wave. Powerful and all-consuming. The marks sang, exploding with flames that travelled through every limb, from their fingertips to toes. One’s pleasure was the other’s, echoing back and forth like a current of electricity. Or of  _magic_. The next minutes were lost to the pair as they revelled in the connection of their lips, their souls, their magic.   
  
They were so lost, in fact, that they hardly noticed when the world around them began to shudder and crack.   
  
When they finally broke apart, they saw that the chamber looked to be stretched like taffy to a point where they both realised that this was not in their minds but in fact taking place in the real world. 

The chamber split at the seams, opening up a great void that seemed to reach out and take hold of Harry.   
  
All of a sudden Harry was being pulled from time and there was nothing he could do about it. Before he could be ripped away entirely, he screamed from the encroaching darkness, “ _Wait for me, Tom! Find me in the future!_ ”  
  
He felt himself being swallowed whole by black, empty nothingness. Looking ahead, he stared into the desperate opal eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Tom reaching out to him, calling his name one more time —   
  
And then Tom vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry: *finally finds his soulmate and accepts who it is*  
> The Void: ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGVzQHu9BDs))


	5. The Afterwards

_October, 1997.  
  
  
_ The first thing Harry became aware of was the fact that he was flat on his back.The second was the familiar faces of his two best friends were staring down at him with twin expressions of worry reflected in both.  
  
“Harry, are you okay?!” Hermione asked before Ron called for the growing group of students to back off and give them some room.  
  
Harry could only groan in response as he sat up and clutched his chest where a searing burning sensation lingered. He badly wanted to check on it at that moment but there were too many eyes watching. It was incredibly taboo to reveal your mark to anyone except your soulmate. Harry would just have to wait to do it in private.  
  
His friends helped him up and when the others saw that Harry was otherwise perfectly unharmed, they quickly lost interest and dispersed. Harry heard a loud whistle followed by a shout that sounded like it came from Ginny.   
  
"Oi! Let's get back to practice!"   
  
The trio meanwhile made their way to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey gave them one look and pursed her lips. “Oh heavens, what is is now?” she said, but the great care she took in moving Harry to a bed belied her plaintive words.  
  
“We were on the pitch having Quidditch tryouts when Harry fainted,” Ron explained, to which Hermione followed with an outburst of: “He was unconscious for a full minute!”  
  
Despite the fact that he seemed perfectly fine save for the dull throbbing of his chest, Pomfrey insisted he stay overnight for observation.  
  
“Soul marks can react quite intensely depending on the person who has its match,” she explained. “But it's nothing I’d advice having to worry your parents over in a letter.”  
  
Harry stilled. “Sorry, what?”  
  
But the matron had already packed up her potions and left to attend to another student who was groaning in pain from a bad bat-bogey hex.  
  
Suddenly disoriented, Harry looked round him until he found a silver tray on a table beside his bed. After moving off a few antiseptic ointments, he grabbed the tray and held the surface up to his head where he stared hard at his reflection.   
  
Specifically, his forehead that now appeared to be scarless.  
  
The silver tray dropped to Harry’s lap as he let out a breath of disbelief. His hand then went to rest against where the mark was over his shirt. Another breath escaped him, but this time it was one of relief and hope.  
  
It must have been sometime late in the night when a noise jolted Harry from his light doze and he scrambled up in bed, eyes trained on the doors to the hospital wing where, not a moment later, a tall, shadowy figure emerged like silken smoke, and just as quiet.  
  
Harry’s heart leaped into his throat at the sight while the skin on his chest warmed, spreading through him like liquid honey.  
  
“ _Tom._ ”  
  
The man — for he surely was a man now — smiled. It was a gentler smile than the one Harry had gotten used to from his other life. But while it was kinder, it was no less devious. Harry’s soul mate must be at least seventy years old by now, but somehow Tom did not look a day over thirty-five.  
  
“Are you…?” Tom began in a rich, deep voice that drifted off far too soon. But the question hung in the air all the same, the unspoken part of it clear as if it had been spoken out loud.  
  
Harry answered it with a wobbling smile. “Yes.”  
  
Tom returned the smile with a much less hesitant, and more relieved, one of his own. The sight of it did something funny to Harry’s stomach.  
  
“My other half…” Tom said softly, and Harry laughed. A far too giddy sound in the late night hush of the hospital wing. But Tom had only swarmed closer to enfold him in an embrace that made the marks on their chests sing with joy against their skin, reverberating throughout their bodies like a pleasant shock.  
  
When Tom eventually pulled back, Harry said, “It’s strange but I remember my… my _old_ life, and this new one now. This one where you’re… you. Where everything is _better._ ”  
  
“Such is the nature of soul mark magic,” Tom said in a rather uncharacteristically indifferent manner. As if he did not particularly care for the _why_ or the _how_ , and instead only cared that is _was_. Which Harry found he was perfectly content with too, as a matter of fact.  
  
“You waited,” Harry said, heart swelling with the reality and meaning of what Tom had done.  
  
“Of course I did. I’ve also waited for this moment a long time,” Tom continued in a murmur against the top of Harry’s head. “I’ve tried to keep close all these years without arousing suspicion, until I began to believe I’d never see the _you_ that went back for me…”  
  
Harry pulled away from the embrace just long enough to look up and meet dark, glittering eyes — not the red of Lord Voldemort, nor the fearful and defensive ones from Tom’s school days. But the sane, sure, loving, and patient ones of his soul mate.  
  
“I’d always come back for you,” Harry replied, and meant it.  
  
Tom’s only response was to hold him tighter.

* * *

The rest of the autumn season passed in a dark but golden haze. As new Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Harry led his team to victory that year and discovered another, even greater challenge awaiting him on the horizon: The beginning of his last school year, and his as-of-yet unwritten future when it ended.  
  
But despite the endless possibilities that lay before him, Harry could only think of one that his heart desired more than anything else. The one thing that he felt compelled to pursue at any cost.  
  
By the end of his seventh year, Harry joined Tom in working for the Ministry of Magic where through it they fought to conquer a new world. A brighter one for wizard and witch kind. One where, together, they would have glory and a home in each other’s arms for as long a time as their marks deemed to gift them with.


End file.
